[CHAPTER V]
“MR. PETER BURLEY, BLACKWATER, COL.”
Hal Smiths dropped in after dinner that evening and Allan brought the conversation around to the subject of Burley, whose performance during practise had been the chief topic at the dinner-table.
“Why, Poor was awfully pleased at my suggestion,” said Hal, “after I found him. It was after twelve then, and I’d chased half over college looking for him. He said he wasn’t very good at persuasion and thought Burley would require lots of it; so he asked me to see him. Poor’s a pretty good little chap, so I went. Burley was awfully decent. Said he had never played and had never even seen the game until he came here; said he hadn’t been able to find out what it was all about, but that if we wanted him to try it, why, of course, he would. Said he thought it looked like pretty good fun, and got me to sort of explain it a bit. One thing he wanted to know,” laughed Hal, “was whether you could hit a man if he didn’t have the ball.”
“Well, he played it for all it was worth this afternoon,” said Allan, smiling. “You heard about it, didn’t you?”
“No; what was it? I sat on the side line all afternoon, and waited to get a whack at State University. What did Burley do?”
So Allan told him, and Hal laughed until the tears came.
“Oh, he’s a genius, he is!” he said.
After a minute of chuckling, he went on:
“Look here, Allan, I think you’d rather like him if you got to know him. He’s—he’s rather a decent sort, after all. I didn’t take to him at first, of course, but—and I don’t say now that he’s the sort of chap you’d want to ask home and introduce to your people; he’s kind of free and easy, and you couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t drink the catsup out of the bottle or slap your governor on the back—but he’s—well, there’s something about him you can’t help liking,” he ended, with an apologetic tone.